


Choosing

by MoonButts



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Confusion, Coping with war and shared struggles, F/M, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internal Conflict, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, M/M, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Underage Drinking, zukka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonButts/pseuds/MoonButts
Summary: Sokka doesn’t know why he did it. He doesn’t know why he did it at all. And he is freaking out - because he chose it.He lashes out. Yells. Throws his boomerang at a tree. It doesn’t make him feel better. It just scares Appa. It doesn’t erase the one word playing in his mind on an endless loop: Traitor.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Haru/Teo/The Duke, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 337





	1. Traitor

**Author's Note:**

> This fic begins right after Season 2, Episode 8 (The Chase), shortly after everyone recovers from their encounter with Azula.

Sokka doesn’t know why he did it. He doesn’t know why he did it at all. And he is _freaking_ out - because he _chose_ it.

So he lashes out. Yells. Throws his boomerang at a tree. It doesn’t make him feel better. It just scares Appa. It doesn’t erase the one word playing in his mind on an endless loop: _Traitor_. 

-.-.-.-

_The previous morning_

“Come on! Please?”

“No. _No way_.” 

“But-”

“Not after last time! Do you even remember what happened at the Fire Days Festival?!” Sokka asks, gesticulating wildly.

Aang pouts, and his air scooter gives out beneath him. He sits, arms crossed, on the wet grass. 

“Sokka, maybe Aang’s right! Sure, last time we went to a fire nation festival it didn’t go exactly according to plan, but this is just one _small_ event. It could be fun!” Katara chimes in. 

Sokka’s unconvinced. “Fun? Since when do you care about fun? And that doesn’t change the fact that it’s dangerous!” 

Katara crosses her eyes, levelling her brother with a glare. “I can have fun! I am _so_ fun. Right, Aang?” 

Aang gives her a forced smile and two thumbs up. Katara huffs.

“You know what? Sokka’s right. It’s too dangerous. I understand. Besides, I need to focus on mastering earthbending,” Aang sighs, disappointed, and turns toward the lake they’re camping by. Sokka smiles triumphantly at Katara, hands on his hips.

Katara huffs and grabs Sokka’s arm as Aang skips a rock across the smooth surface of the lake. She pulls her brother a few paces into the treeline and glares at him.

“What?!” Sokka exclaims, exasperated. 

“Ever since Aang burned me, he’s refused to practice firebending! This may be our only chance to show him fire doesn’t have to be destructive... that it can be…” she pauses to think, “that it can be beautiful and creative, too.” _Great. Katara’s in mother mode._ But Sokka knows she’s right. If they're going to face off against the Fire Lord before Sozin’s Comet comes, Aang needs to master all of the elements, and he needs to do it quickly. 

So as much as he hates to say it (and he _hates_ to say it), they have to at least try. He rolls his eyes, and mumbles a reluctant, “Fine.” 

Katara jumps in glee. “Yes! Thank you, Sokka!” And just like that she’s sprinting back toward the lake. “We’re going to the festival, Aang! Wake up, Toph!” 

“Woah, really?!” Aang leaps up, a huge grin spread across his face. “Awesome!”

Sokka kicks the dirt, muttering to himself. “Ridiculous.”

\---

Uncle Iroh is infuriating, and utterly _ridiculous_. A firebending festival, really? Right after their close encounter with Azula, the last place they should be is the Fire Nation.

So what if it’s just a colony? It still counts as Fire Nation territory. And they _should not_ be here.

The mask on his face makes it hard to breathe through his nose, and even harder to see. That’s his own fault, though. He had chosen the mask with the smallest eye slits he could find in order to cover his scar. The giant brand would make him all too easy to identify. So he opted for a scarlet and gold mask, full of intricate loops and swirls. Obviously made for a woman, but it serves its purpose. 

“Ooh, ginseng!” His uncle sniffs the air beside him, wandering over to a small tea stand. “And Pai Sho! Zuko, come play!” 

“Uncle _Mushi_ ,” Zuko says through gritted teeth, “I thought you wanted to watch the festivities?” 

“Oh go on, go on. I’ll just play one game!” Uncle isn’t even looking at him, already seating himself at one of the Pai Sho tables. “I’ll catch up,” he waves a dismissive hand at Zuko, who rolls his eyes beneath the mask, and continues on down the crowded street. Leave it to his uncle to drag him to a festival they shouldn’t even be at, and then dump him for lotus tiles and tea. Typical. 

At least the festival is nice. Mayong is a beautiful town, and was one of the lucky few to have suffered minimal damage during its colonization. Loud, lively music, giant dragon floats, and traditional firebending shows flood the streets, and Zuko chooses to ignore the huge statue of his father in the center of the plaza. 

If he scowls, no one can see it behind his mask. If it makes him so upset that he slams into some poor guy’s shoulder as he strides past, then it’s the other guy’s fault. He should’ve been watching where he was going.

\---

“Hey!” Sokka shouts out, “Watch where you’re going, jerkface!” 

Katara pats his shoulder gently. “Ignore it.”

Sokka huffs. “What a jerk. I even dropped my sizzle-crisps! I _knew_ coming here was a mistake,” he whines.

Sokka, Katara, Toph, and Aang walk side by side through the giant plaza, donning matching black cloaks, and assorted masks. Except Toph. She said the mask made it too hard to pick her nose, and besides, nobody was looking to arrest a _‘poor, defenseless blind child’_ as she had put it.

The masks at this festival are more elegant than the ones at Fire Days were. They are all beautifully crafted, and not as costume-y as the others… except Sokka’s. His is the biggest, most theatrical, red dragon mask on the market, complete with the top half of the snout, and a protruding forked tongue. He _loves_ it. Thinks it’s badass. Katara had just rolled her eyes when he bought it and picked up two simple silver masks, for herself and Aang.

The group spends over an hour walking around the plaza, admiring the show. Every now and again, Katara whispers something to Aang along the lines of, “Imagine being able to do that! Wouldn’t that be neat?” or “Wow, that’s _beautiful!_ ”, clearly trying to get the boy to budge his stance on firebending. Toph goes back to camp early with a headache - Sokka assumes from all the vibrations and sounds of the crowded space.

Despite the crowd, and Katara’s pressing, Sokka has to admit that the festival is pretty nice. It almost feels normal. Like he’s just a regular teenager. Like war and Ozai and Sozin’s comet are light years away. So when the sun goes down, and Katara and Aang decide to hit the hay, Sokka tells them he’s gonna stay out a bit longer. He had never gotten more sizzle-crisps, anyway.

On his way back to the vendor, he catches a glimpse of someone leaning against an alley wall. Not just any someone, either. It’s the jerkface who bumped into him earlier! “Hey!” He calls to him, indignant. The guy doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look at him. “I’m talking to you!” He says, making his way into the alley. “You nearly ran me over earlier and-”

“And what?” the other guy cuts him off. Something about him seems familiar, and Sokka’s voice dies in his throat.

“I-I dropped my sizzle-crisps,” he finishes, lamely. The stranger tilts his head, and Sokka is sure his mask is concealing a smirk. What is with that mask, anyway? It was _obviously_ made for girls. The boy pushes himself off the wall and examines Sokka for a moment, sizing him up. Sokka just glares, and something in the stranger’s demeanor eventually changes.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry, “Guess we’ll have to buy you some more. Follow me.” He strides past Sokka and back onto the slightly less crowded street. He doesn’t turn back to see if Sokka is following or not. How presumptuous! Sokka sighs angrily, but decides that free food is free food, even if it comes from a total jerk in a girl mask.

\---

Something about the mask makes him brave. So as Zuko leads the stranger back toward the plaza, he decides to have some fun. Passing by a booze booth, Zuko tosses some coins to the vendor, snatching a bottle from the stand and continuing his walk before the guy can ask him for identification. The stranger has caught up with him by the time he makes it back to the plaza, asking him, slightly out of breath, “Are you even old enough for that?”

Zuko retorts, “Are you old enough to care?”

The stranger shrugs, and replies, “Guess not, as long as you’re sharing.” Zuko smiles. He likes this guy. 

“Wasn’t planning on drinking alone.”

\---

Jerkface buys him some new sizzle-crisps, an _extra large_ , and leads him to the roof of an inn. They slide down to the balcony of an uninhabited room, and sit on the edge, legs dangling through the gaps in the railing. Sokka laughs at the pure absurdity of it. 

“What?” the stranger questions, in his strangely familiar, raspy tone. His head is tilted to the side, and it reminds Sokka of a penguin-otter.

“Nothing,” Sokka chuckles. “Just been a long time since I’ve been able to do something like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like be a kid, or whatever. You know. Relax, have fun…”

A beat of silence passes.

“... I know.” Sokka looks toward the stranger, who takes a long, slow swig of the alcohol he’d grabbed on the street, grimacing afterward. Something in his tone tugs at Sokka’s heartstrings. It’s like there’s a weight in his words. The same kind of weight the water tribe warrior has carried around with him ever since the Avatar showed up. Ever since he really laid eyes on the war.

Instead of dwelling, Sokka asks, “What is that stuff, anyway?” He’s sure the stranger is raising an eyebrow from under his mask.

“Fire gin,” he says, holding the bottle out to Sokka. He blushes, a little embarrassed at his own naivete. “Never had it?” the stranger asks. Sokka shakes his head.

“Promise it’s not actually on fire?” He’s convinced he’s still got scars on his tongue from some previous encounters with Fire Nation food.

The stranger’s laugh is raspy and low, just like his voice. It spreads a warm comfort through Sokka’s veins. “Promise.” He offers the bottle up again, and knocks Sokka’s knee with his own. Sokka lifts the bottle to his lips, under the elongated dragon snout, and takes an experimental sip, grimacing at the taste, but swallowing anyway.

\---

“I mean jasmine, understandable! But he abandoned you for _ginseng?_ ” the boy slurs.

“Right?! Thank you!” Zuko responds, not-so-sober himself.

They’re inside the room now, lounging on a large four-poster bed. It’s a nice room, Zuko notes. Red silk sheets, a lounge sofa, hardwood floors, and an adjoining bathroom. There are even curtains on the bed. It almost reminds him of his room at the palace. He tries not to think about that too hard. Especially not while his left leg is squished up so nicely against the boy with the dragon mask’s right leg.

It hits Zuko how differently he’s acting tonight. He wonders if it’s the alcohol, or something else. They’ve been talking for hours, and they’ve made it through nearly a quarter of the gin, which is impressive, considering its strength. Neither of them have shared their names, or taken off their masks. There’s something reassuring in the anonymity. Something freeing. 

When they first started talking, Zuko had thought he recognized the other boy’s voice from somewhere. He’s sure now that he couldn’t have. He’s never met someone so honest, or _fun_ , for that matter. He doesn’t think he’s had fun in a long time. Probably not since he was banished. Not since he was thirteen. He wonders if he had even had fun before that. He takes another sip of the gin, pretending he doesn’t know the answer to that particular question. The years of his life he’d lost since banishment are a hard enough pill to swallow as is.

“You know you’re lucky to have your uncle, right?” the boy asks, almost out of the blue. He sounds more sober, and it sobers Zuko up, too. “Even if he does leave you for Pai Sho.”

Zuko smiles a little, and finds himself nodding. “I know.” Deep down, he does. “I’ve done bad things. A lot of really… bad things.” He casts his eyes down, running his thumb over the lip of the gin bottle. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re not bad. I can’t tell anymore… But Uncle’s stuck with me through all of it.”

“Sounds to me like you’re not doing them because you want to. Who are you trying to impress?” the stranger asks, hitting the nail on the head. 

Zuko has to take another swig before he responds, “My dad.” 

He hears a tired laugh beside him, and the stranger rests a hand on his thigh. Zuko almost flinches away on reflex. "I know how that goes.”

“You do?” He turns to look at the other boy, who gives him a knowing look. Maybe they can only see each other’s eyes, but another silent moment of understanding passes between them. 

“Like you have to fight for your honor, or something? Prove your worth, your strength?” the stranger asks Zuko, and Zuko nods in silent awe. Somebody _understands._

\---

_He understands_ , Sokka thinks.

“Do you ever feel like a joke to everyone around you? Like you’re a failure, or like you’re not taken seriously?” the other boy asks, bitterly. 

_All the time._

Sokka remembers all of the times his plans have been ignored. All of the times Aang and Katara and even Toph have laughed at his worries. At his abilities as a warrior. At his navigation skills, and his hunting.

“Or people make you feel-”

“Useless.” Sokka finishes for him.

“Useless.” The stranger repeats.

A long moment of silence passes, and Sokka notices he’s crying.

But then the stranger’s hand is grasping his own, lifting it toward his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “You’re not.”

The stranger lets go of his hand, rests his own on Sokka’s knee. It’s supposed to be comforting, the warrior thinks, but then they lock eyes, and a switch flips in his brain. Some wires cross, and before he knows what he’s doing, Sokka’s trembling hand covers the other boy’s, and he’s leading it down, down, down, until it’s resting over top of his arousal.

The stranger’s breath is heavy, and his golden eyes are still glued to Sokka’s own. There’s a long pause, and Sokka’s holding his breath, scared. And then the other boy presses down, pulls his hand back up, presses it down again.

And Sokka is on top of him in a second, straddling the other boy’s waist, and grinding down roughly. The air in the room goes from static electricity to pure lightning in a span of seconds. The stranger’s hand leaves Sokka’s bulge, and wraps around his neck as his other hand grips his waist, pulling him close as he grinds up into Sokka.

\---

They’re both panting heavily, rubbing against one another through too many layers of clothes. Zuko reaches down between them, grasping at the stranger’s waistband, running his fingers underneath his tunic. His whole body runs hot with barely-contained fire, practically panting as the stranger continues to rut against him.

“I want-” he pants, and the stranger nods emphatically, understanding immediately. Zuko wants to kiss him. 

The stranger sits up in his lap, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. They both reach up for their masks.

\---

Sokka’s reaching up for his mask, entranced. So is his stranger. His fingers are on the ties. His other hand is pulling the mask away. The other boy’s mask is coming off. He sees the pale skin of his neck give way to a defined jawline, and perfect lips. A slender nose. And then… 

A scar. 

And two golden eyes staring back at him, shocked.

_Zuko._

\---

_Sokka._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I started writing this at 10 P.M. and couldn't stop until six in the morning, so who knows how much I'll hate it once I'm actually awake LOL. Expect more updates soon because I'm in love with this for some reason. <3


	2. Choosing

Sokka sits, frozen to his spot, on _Prince_ _Zuko of the Fire Nation's_ hips. His mouth hangs open like a fish. No words come out. He just sits, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Fire Nation soldiers to come sprinting out from under the bed. Waiting for Zuko to burn him alive. He just sits, and waits, because he’s not sure what else to do.

\---

_Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe,_ _defender and friend of the Avatar_ , is sitting on top of Zuko’s lap. Zuko should run. Or shove him. Or set him on fire.

Instead, he reaches a shaking hand up, ever so slowly, to touch _Sokka’s_ face. He doesn't even know why he does it. He just strokes his thumb along tanned skin, along those high cheekbones. He makes a decision.

\---

Sokka trembles under Zuko’s touch. Under the warm hand that lies so gently on his face. 

And then Zuko flips them over. The look in his eyes is determined, wild. _This is the end,_ Sokka thinks, bracing himself for the inevitable. _Goodbye Katara, I’m so sorry._ He squeezes his eyes shut.

But Zuko’s hand is still on his face, and then Zuko is kissing down his neck, and untying Sokka’s belt. Zuko’s kisses are scorching along his clavicles. His tongue is fierce against his skin, and Sokka’s nails dig into his biceps. 

And then Zuko’s back up to his face, staring into his eyes with a fear and desperation that matches his own. 

\---

“You’re beautiful, Sokka.” He means it. He means more. He means that he wants to worship him. That he wants to kiss his mouth until it bleeds, and take him on this bed until it breaks. That he wants to spend hours mapping out every curve and crevice of his body and mind. 

Sokka moans in response. It’s more than enough for Zuko.

\---

_TRAITOR!_ Sokka’s brain screams at him. _Traitor. Traitor. Traitor._

But that’s not what Zuko’s calling him. Prince Zuko, _of the Fire Nation_ , is calling him _beautiful_.

He moans, unwittingly, before pulling him back down. He’s _choosing_ it as the Prince’s - as his enemy’s - as _Zuko’s_ mouth descends upon his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More updates coing soon! Let me know what you think :)


	3. Anchor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The previous chapters have undergone some serious editing. A few mistakes have been fixed and some important content/context has been added to certain scenes for transitional purposes, as well as emotional purposes, and to give reason for actions that may otherwise be considered OOC. While not necessary, I would recommend re-reading at least the first chapter.

Sokka expects to wake up to an empty bed. He expects it. He knows it’s coming even before he opens his eyes. 

And it’s better this way, he thinks. This way, they don’t have to look at each other. Or kill each other.

Or acknowledge the weight of what they’ve done. 

So even though he can feel the cold, empty space beside him in bed, and even though some of that coldness sinks into his skin, and _even_ though he feels completely alone again, he tells himself this is a good thing.

He deserves to feel lonely, anyway. For the rest of his life, and then some. For what he’s done.

He opens his eyes. Stares at the ceiling. Listens to the birds calling outside. The noise of vendors opening shops. Lets himself feel the cool, damp morning air drafting in through the balcony doors. Lets it wash over his naked skin. And he imagines that same cool air blowing into his ear, washing over his brain, carrying away the heat of his shame and regret. Images of Zuko panting and moaning above him, beneath him, all around him, remind him that even a typhoon couldn’t wash away his betrayal.

So he closes his eyes again. Listens to the birds. The vendors. Tries to ignore the hot tears running down his cheeks. Pretends he’s not shaking.

And then he gets up, because he doesn’t deserve to feel bad for himself.

.

.

.

He expects an immediate interrogation when he returns to camp, but it doesn’t come. Bits of orange are just beginning to peek over the horizon, seeping into the dark blue of the sky like blood through water. Only Aang is awake, meditating on a rock by the shore. Sokka stands at the treeline, mask dangling from his fingers, and watches him. He wonders how somebody gets to be as good as Aang is. As pure. As peaceful.

He doesn’t think he could ever attain that. But he sits down in the wet grass anyway, and watches the young airbender. Something about the peace and quiet and creeping dawn anchors him, surrounds that lost, turbulent feeling in his chest and stomach and mind, and mellows it. There is somberness, but it is calm and steady, like the strong, slow-moving tides of the Southern Sea. He cries, but the tears are gentle, trickling slowly down his cheeks and throat, and he pays them no mind, just leans against a nearby tree and stares into the absolute stillness of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> 1\. Sorry for the short chapter. It felt necessary to isolate the mood and give pause before the next event.  
> 2\. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.  
> 3\. This fic is a real work in progress, and as per usual when it comes to my writing style, I'll be going back and forth editing chapters as I continue to write. I'll make sure to post a note (like the one above this chapter) if there are any significant changes.  
> 4\. Thank you for all of the support <3 it means the world, and gives me motivation to continue writing.
> 
> Also, it's 3:49 AM and I'm graduating HS today :')


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Zuko deal with the emotional aftermath of their night together.

“Are those…  _ HICKEYS?!” _ Katara.

“Hickeys?” Aang.

“Ha! Told ya he was getting some hot firebender action!” Toph.

“ _ Prrrrrrr! _ ” Momo. 

Sokka wonders how long he can pretend to be asleep. 

“I know you’re awake, Snoozles!  _ Spill. _ ” Of  _ course _ . Toph and her stupid vibration thing.

Sokka opens one eye, sighs, opens the other, and peels himself off the bark of the tree he’s slumped against. Katara’s got her arms crossed, one foot tapping menacingly in the dirt. Toph’s crouching in front of him, far too close to his face as she stares expectantly. Aang just looks confused, mirroring Momo’s tilted head as he pauses mid-climb on the Avatar’s shoulder. 

Pushing himself up, Sokka murmurs uncomfortably, “Nothing to spill,” as he rubs at his neck. And then he’s soaked in water. He’s so shocked he doesn’t even splutter. Just stands there wide-eyed and gaping at his sister, whose arms drop from their arc toward Sokka back to her sides. 

“For those  _ burns _ ,” Katara scowls, turning and stomping away. Aang scratches the back of his neck with an apologetic grin and an awkward chuckle, before trailing after her. Toph laughs so hard she snorts and falls over, slapping the ground next to her. 

“Wow, you’ve really done it this time, haven’t you?” she says once she’s calmed down. Sokka’s just confused.  _ Burns? _ What burns? 

He walks past Toph, who’s still wiping tears from her eyes, and makes his way toward the lake, led by a sneaking suspicion. He leans down to look at his reflection, and a weight instantly settles in his gut.

Trailing from his jaw, down his neck, and under the collar of his tunic are bright red burn marks. It looks like a bad sunburn- like the kind he used to get fishing with no face covering as a child. Just because it was cold in the south, didn’t mean the sun wasn’t unforgiving. But these burns are different… because they’re in the shape of lips.  _ Zuko’s _ lips. Sokka reaches up to touch one. A weight drops in his stomach. The elbow leeches that have been tumbling around in his stomach all morning suddenly grow to the size of the unagi, and it twists and wriggles, and wrenches itself inside Sokka’s guts.

He vomits. Regurgitating fire gin and sizzle crisps until the clear blue water before him is thoroughly suffused with bright orange-red bile and chunks of meat. He doesn’t know when she gets there, but suddenly Katara is rubbing his back as he dry heaves, running a soothing hand over his head as she shushes him gently. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry, Sokka. You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. Better out than in,” she soothes. Tears prick at his eyes as he gags. 

“I’m sorry!” he cries out between heaves, “I’m so sorry!” His voice is hoarse and grating and wet, and  _ disgusting _ . His hands clench around sand as he holds himself up. Every muscle in his body spasms as he forces air in and out of his lungs. 

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay, Sokka. It’s okay. I’m not mad,” she continues to rub circles into his back.

By the time his stomach and gag reflex calm, Sokka is worn out - physically, emotionally, completely. Katara just holds him close, running a hand through his hair. She rocks him back and forth as they kneel on the sandy shore. “I’m not mad, Sokka. I was just worried sick. You didn’t come back last night, and I thought you-”

“I know.” Sokka cringes at the wrecked sound of his own voice. “I’m sorry, Katara. I messed up, like really bad. I-”

“Shh. Hey. I understand. We’re all stressed out, Sokka, and we’re all dealing with it differently. You deserve a night off sometimes. We all do.” She  _ doesn’t _ understand, though. She couldn’t. If she knew what really happened- who he had… 

“But-” 

“No buts. I hope she was nice, Sokka. Maybe after all of this, you can find her again.”

“I-” Sokka’s lost his fire. “Okay.”

Katara smiles gently at him, and stands up, offering him a hand. Sokka takes it hesitantly. “Now let’s get you something less spicy to eat. I don’t think fire nation food is Sokka-friendly.” She wrinkles her nose at the oily orange slick on the lake’s surface, and Sokka laughs. It’s only a small laugh, and it may be mostly self-pitying, but it’s a laugh, and the water tribe warrior wonders how he managed to get such a good sister. 

He certainly doesn’t deserve her. 

\---

Zuko tries to act normal. Whatever normal is these days. But  _ Agni _ , he can feel the fire crawling through his veins all morning, itching at his fingers, heating his skin in a way that leaves his whole face as lobster-crab red as his scar.

Uncle doesn’t ask questions. Just sends suspicious (and infuriatingly well-meaning) glances at Zuko over his cup of tea. 

To say that Zuko is agitated would be an understatement. Every single muscle, joint, tendon, and ligament in his body is wound tight. He’s teetering on the edge of exploding… or, more likely,  _ melting down _ . That’s what this feels like, he decides. A meltdown.

If he wasn’t trying so hard right now to pretend that nothing happened, he would be lashing out, throwing a temper tantrum the likes of which would leave Sozin trembling. The walls of the cave he and Uncle are staying in would be stained black for the rest of eternity, and every tree for acres would be burnt to ash if he could act on his inner turmoil. But he can’t. Because then he’d have to explain himself to the old man, or  _ lie _ , which might be even more unrealistic. He can’t remember the last time he lied to Uncle. Wonders if he’s even capable anymore. 

So instead of burning the entire place to the ground, Zuko stands from his spot by their makeshift campfire, very  _ calmly _ walks outside, out of the line of Iroh’s sight, unsheathes his broadswords, and starts swinging. He lets his inner flame burst forth from his palms and down the blades of the swords as he arcs them in practiced motions over his head and around his body. His breaths come in angry gasps and grunts as he pushes through the motions. His swords glint furiously in the afternoon sun. 

It doesn’t make him feel any better. With every slice of the dual swords through empty air, a pressure builds in his chest and throat. It smothers his flame. His gasps turn into furious sobs, and he flings his swords away, sparks flying off the sharpened edges. One sails through the air and embeds itself in a tree. The other flies down into dark soil.

Zuko collapses.  _ Too much. Too much. Too much _ . He claws at his ears and pounds desperate fists against his head, trying to silence the voices that scream at him,  _ ‘WHY, WHY, WHY?!’ _ , but they won’t go away. They won’t  _ stop _ .  _ How does he make them stop?  _

_ He can’t get the sight out of his mind. _ Pale hands -  _ his _ hands, trailing, stroking, grasping at impossibly tan flesh. Full lips and a broad jawline and lidded blue eyes. Sweat and heat and muscle. Endless planes of skin. Teeth and tongues and rolling hips. 

… And then Sokka’s breath… coming in soft, warm puffs against his neck in the morning. His body sprawled on top of Zuko’s. Legs tangled together. Hands clasped tightly. 

Even as Zuko closes his eyes, trying to block the onslaught of images that pervade his every thought, he can’t stop them.

And he can’t shut off the booming sound of his father’s voice, reminding him that men like  _ that _ are  _ honorless _ . That Zuko is honorless. 

\---

Sokka tries to joke around, smile, laugh. He even tries being grumpy and sarcastic. It just comes out stilted and forced. And with every flat joke, and half-assed snipe, his friends’ worried glances become more and more pronounced. The tension in the air is palpable the entire afternoon, even as Katara and Toph instruct Aang. Katara’s shoulders are a little too stiff, her water whips hardly effective. Toph’s distracted, too - sneaking glances over at Sokka after each boulder she heaves at Aang. She can’t really see him, of course. It’s just instinctual. Even Aang - innocent and oblivious Aang, has caught on that something’s wrong.

So it comes as a relief when they tell him they’re heading into town to grab supplies, and ask him to stay behind to keep an eye on Appa and Momo. He knows it’s just so they can talk about him behind his back, but at least it gives him a break from the strained nonchalant-ness he’s been trying to exude.  _ Meat and sarcasm. Meat and sarcasm _ , he reminds himself, as they pull on their cloaks and leave. 

He paces around camp, tries to think of a plan for their next stop before Ba Sing Se. Gives up after ten minutes. He can’t think, can’t focus past the pounding in his head. He’s such a bad person. A terrible warrior. A terrible friend. 

And for some damn reason, he can’t stop thinking about Zuko. Zuko and his kindness. Zuko and his understanding. Zuko and his di- nope.  _ Not _ going there. So not going there right now. 

_ He’s the enemy _ , Sokka reminds himself.  _ He attacked your village. He set Kyoshi Island on fire. He’s trying to capture Aang. _

_. _

_. _

_. _

_ He’s trying to capture Aang. _

Sokka gets a sick feeling in his stomach. Thinks he might puke again.  _ Is that why Zuko did it? _ Is that why he slept with him? Sokka feels dirty. Used. What if Zuko followed him back? What if he’s waiting to get Aang alone? What if…

No. Even Zuko wouldn’t stoop that low, right? But what if? What if?

Sokka’s whole body hurts at the thought. He was  _ so _ stupid! Why did he even do it? He could’ve shoved Zuko off. Could’ve hit him, or used the distraction to incapacitate him. Could have just walked away. 

Zuko didn’t force him. He can’t even blame it on a lack of thinking. Not even on the gin. He knew right when Zuko flipped them over that he had a choice. And he made the wrong one. 

Sokka doesn’t know why he did it. He doesn’t know why he did it at all. And he is  _ freaking _ out - because he  _ chose _ it.

So he lashes out. Yells. Throws his boomerang at a tree. It doesn’t make him feel better. It just scares Appa. It doesn’t erase the one word playing in his mind on an endless loop:  _ Traitor _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the Sokka and Zuko whump! I love-hate to make them suffer LOL. I hope it's not too much. Let me know your thoughts - constructive criticism is always welcome!
> 
> Also, sorry for the super late chapter. A lot has been going on, but I should be able to post more regularly now. I hope you guys haven't lost interest in this fic!


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